


Open House

by perfumeofsighs



Category: Mayans M.C. (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, House Hunting, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, suggestion of anal play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfumeofsighs/pseuds/perfumeofsighs
Summary: Miguel Galindo is ready to buy a home and he’s very picky about what he wants.
Relationships: Miguel Galindo/OFC, Miguel Galindo/Reader
Kudos: 14





	Open House

**Author's Note:**

> The house in this story is based on three houses I think Miguel would like. While I would like you to use your imagination, if you’re curious you can look at the listings of the houses at the notes at the end of the story, and check out this [moodboard](https://imgur.com/a/uccsHe1) I made.

When I was hired at Santo Padre’s premier concierge real estate agency, the first client they dropped on my desk was Miguel Galindo. I was used to working with clients who came by their money both legitimately and illegally, but it made no difference to me as long as the commission check cleared. However, I heard rumors in the office about how difficult he could be. Galindo’s reputation as a major player in the criminal underworld wasn’t the worst part of having him as a client. 

“It’s been 6 months since his divorce and he still hasn’t settled on a property,” my predecessor told me as he packed up his desk. “He’s extremely hard to please.”

“A word of advice? Get out while you can,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out the door. 

I was sure it would be fine. I’m not easily intimidated. I reminded myself that as a professional I can focus on meeting my client’s needs and delivering the best service possible. Initially, upon meeting him I thought my task would be simple, and it would be a pleasant working relationship. He was hot, easy on the eyes, and I knew I was good at my job. But now I’ve been his agent for the better part of his post-divorce bachelorhood, and nothing I showed him met his standards. I began to understand why the last guy quit. 

He may be gorgeous but he sure is difficult. He turned his nose up at cathedral ceilings, heated Italian marble floors, and houses featured in Architectural Digest. Nothing was good enough for him. We viewed all of the modern constructed homes in Ranch, Spanish, and Chateau styles. 

Today we viewed the palatial estate of one home and he paced the grounds declaring it too open. How could having _too_ much space be a bad thing?

“So many vantage points for snipers,” he sniffed, taking off his sunglasses and carefully wiping the lenses. He used them to point off into the distance. 

‘Don’t you agree, Nestor?” He asked, but his bodyguard just shrugged. 

“It’s not like they put ‘low sniper risk’ on the deal sheets,” I mumbled, looking over my files. 

He brushed past me to head back to the car without even stepping foot in the house. “Find me something better.” 

Now we are sitting in the back of his Maybach, and I’m trying not to let him test my patience after leaving yet another disappointing viewing. 

“Everything in that house is custom built to perfection,” I cry. “Those floors were polished concrete and European white oak. If only you went inside...”  
  
Miguel does not look up from his phone. “I suppose we have different definitions of perfection. As your client, shouldn’t you want to make me happy?” 

His rebuke stings. I didn't mean to voice my frustration so openly. 

“I don’t want to rush into a purchase,” he says simply. “Surely there’s something else you can show me.”

There is one more house but I didn’t think it would fit his criteria.   
  
“Well… it’s actually under your budget because there are less bedrooms, and it’s a little further out on the edge of Santo Padre,” I am thinking aloud. “It’s also not newly constructed although I think it has wonderful bones.” 

“We have time don’t we, Nestor? Let’s go see it.” 

We make the drive to the house and this is the first time since becoming Miguel Galindo’s agent that I am actually nervous. Our agency reluctantly took on this listing as a personal favor for the owner, but no one wanted to work on it because it would be a difficult sell, as they were convinced none of the Santo Padre elite would want to live this far out from town. 

But from the first moment I laid eyes on the house, I fell in love. Of course, I could never in a million years afford to live in a place like this, but I could at least pretend. Especially in my line of work. So this is the first listing that I staged a few rooms for viewing and hand selected the furnishings myself. 

If he hates this one, I will take it personally.   
  
“We just listed the property so it hasn’t been shown to potential buyers yet,” I say unlocking the front door. I wring my hands nervously as Nestor and Miguel walk in.

“What do you think, Nestor?” Miguel asks, surveying the surroundings.

Nestor shrugs. “It’s a big house, Mikey.” 

“There’s a billiards room,” I add.

“Oh, well I like it better than the last place then,” Nestor says. 

“Lead the way,” Miguel suggests, and I begin the tour in the billiard room. 

A Woolsey pool table is featured as the focal point of the room while custom built-in shelving lines the walls. 

“It can double as a library, or another room to entertain guests.” 

An office is adjacent, connected by French doors and has a large oak desk with access to the veranda. I chose a stain on the desk that reflects the rugged, yet refined nature of the house. As I chatter excitedly about how much afternoon light floods this room, Nestor’s phone rings and he goes out to take the call. Miguel drags his finger across the back of a cognac leather chair, murmuring approvingly. We pass the hall, and I show Miguel the first of the four bathrooms. 

“They all have custom Talavera puebla tiles imported from Mexico,” I sigh. “I can’t wait to show you the ensuite in the master bedroom.” 

When Nestor returns, he reminds Miguel that they need to pick up Dita from her appointment. 

“Nestor, can you do it? I’d like to stay and finish the viewing.” Miguel says, looking at his watch, and then looking at me. “If you are okay being alone with me, that is.”

“Of course, Mr. Galindo.” Why wouldn’t I be okay with being alone with him? 

After Nestor leaves, I lead Miguel to the living room. It is an open space plan that connects to a dining area with a bar and kitchen with state of the art appliances. "It's perfect for when you're cooking but need to a keep an eye on your son," I inform him. The high ceilings have exposed beams and two lodge style chandeliers. The house manages to be both modern and masculine while retaining a bit of old world charm. 

I think I see the corners of his mouth lifting. Is that a smile?

I knock on the double pane windows. I mention that these can be re-finished with bulletproof glass, and he merely nods. He looks out past the lawn and pool where large cherry laurel hedges offer privacy and protection. 

“Looking for snipers?” I tease.

Miguel chuckles softly at that comment before leaning towards me. He was always so tense and weary looking on all of our appointments. I was under the impression that the man just had no sense of humor. How strange to hear him laugh.  
  
“Why did you hide this gem from me, hmm?” 

I am quiet, unsure of how to answer. Knowing we are alone, in this big beautiful house together makes the silence a little more deafening, and seeing me search for a response, he continues. 

“Did you think I was just being difficult?”

I wonder if I’m allowed to speak freely. 

“Honestly? Yes. I contemplated quitting since it seemed like there was no pleasing you. More than once I thought about cursing you out,” I admit.

“You hold your temper pretty well,” he remarks. “But some of those homes you showed me, however tempting, were pretty soulless.”

Miguel crosses his hands behind his back.

“I wanted to wait to find the right one. I let my ex-wife pick our last two homes, and this is the first time I’m making a decision that doesn’t involve... business.” 

I understand from the way he emphasized that last word that in his line of work we ‘re not talking about paper pushing but something more ominous. It must take a toll on him too. 

“Emily had a fondness for expensive things, but our house was always….” He trails off, twirling his hand in the air as if trying to summon the correct word.

“Tempting but soulless?” I offer. 

He laughs again, a little wistfully. “Yes, and she would have loved the last dozen homes you showed me.”

“I suppose I just showed you what other men in your income bracket would have liked.”

“You’ll find I’m not like other men,” he replies pointedly, and I let that sink in. 

Now that I understand him a little better, I fully recognize that line of reasoning. It feels safe to be in his confidence. I empathize with his need to wait until the right house becomes a home. We stand quietly looking out the window and see the water in the pool ripple as the first fat droplets of rain start coming down. 

“It’s raining,” he quietly observes. 

“It looks like I won’t be able to show you the grounds outside then. Should I continue the tour upstairs in the master bedroom?”

“After you,” he says graciously. 

We double back to head up the main hall staircase, my heels clicking on the solid polished oak. I am wearing a tight pencil skirt suit and walking up stairs is a little difficult without holding on to the banister for balance. He falls back behind me, and lets me take my time moving up each step at slow pace. I feel goosebumps run up and down my body and have a funny feeling that Miguel is watching me. When we reach the top of the steps I smooth out my skirt and smile at him. 

“This way.” 

We head into the master bedroom with its large ceilings, and wrought iron balcony that overlooks the pool and yard. A California King takes up the middle of the room, draped with Egyptian cotton sateen sheets and linen in crisp white. A separate sitting area with similar design aesthetic takes up the other half of the space. 

Miguel notices me favoring one leg over the other, the consequence of doing viewings in my high heels all day.

‘Take off your shoes,” he suggests in that clipped manner of his.

I hesitate. It seems unprofessional. 

“This is my house now and I would like my guest to be comfortable, so by all means, make yourself comfortable and take off your shoes.” He unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt collar as well as he says this. 

“Your house?” I say, stepping out of my heels. That feels so much better. “So I take it you like it enough to buy?” 

“I love it,” he replies, scanning the room. He inspects one of the brass lamps. “I especially love all the details and the furnishings. They belong to the current owner?” 

I take a sharp inhale. “Actually….no. I staged the house and selected all the furniture you see. Everything’s handpicked for this house by me.”

He looks visibly impressed. “I love your taste.”

After this morning’s rebuke and the months of failing to meet his expectations, the heat rises in my face at this praise because I know it is a rarity. Miguel Galindo does not freely dole out praise. I catch myself staring at Miguel and the little bit of chest hair that peeks out from where he’s unbuttoned his collar. 

I carefully clear my throat and nod towards the ensuite. “Check out that shower, Mr. Galindo.”  
  
He struts into the bathroom with its white quartz floors and gleaming porcelain sinks. The Talavera tiles appear again here but in a black and white motif. An impressive black marble walk-in shower is in the center, and a claw foot gold hammered tub sits adjacent to it. It’s a complete luxury spa experience, and now that I know what Miguel is looking for I have a feeling he’ll fall in love with it. 

“Isn’t it great? I can imagine you showering in there,” I catch myself saying. 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Oh?”

I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Although now that I think of it, what a beautiful sight that would be. My mouth waters thinking of him naked under that rain shower, the hot jets of water rolling off his body slowly and beading in that salt and pepper beard of his. 

I gulp as he rakes his tongue over his teeth, amused by my comment. 

“When you come to stage the house do you imagine yourself taking a bath in here?” He asks, tapping the tub.

I pause before nodding. “Mmm hmm,” I reply sheepishly.

He watches me closely and for a moment I wonder if he’s imagining me in that tub. It feels very hot in here all of a sudden. I want to undo the top few buttons of my blouse too. 

“Your honesty is refreshing. You can call me Miguel and drop the realtor niceties with me. I’m interested in your honest opinions.” 

Everything he says sounds like both a suggestion and an order.

“Okay,” I say quietly. 

A rip of thunder breaks the tension, and I take this opportunity to change the subject. Miguel seems like the kind of man who is into wine so I take a stab. 

“This house has a wine cellar and the current owner left an impressive collection. Would you like to see it?”

I lead Miguel back down to the main level and then to the cellar in the sub-level of the house. He whistles at the array of tinted bottles in this sanctum, and he picks up a bottle to inspect the label. 

“Not a bad vintage,” he notes. He holds it up and motions for me to find some glasses. When he sees the look of worry cross my face he clarifies.

“For the amount of money I’m spending I’m sure they won’t mind if we help ourselves to a bottle or two,” he reassures me and we head back up the stairs to the living room. 

I’m not sure if it is okay for me to fraternize with a client like this, but I also feel like you don’t say no to Miguel Galindo either. Would there be any harm in having a glass of wine with him? We sit on the couch listening to the torrent of rain as he uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses. 

“A toast then?” He suggests, handing it to me by the stem. 

“Sure… to new homes.”

“To new beginnings,” he adds, clinking. 

He observes me over the rim of his wine glass as I take a few small sips, and we make chitchat. He tells me his favorite things about this house and I’m pleasantly surprised that we are on the same page. I feel like he will be really happy here and I’m glad that I finally found his match, if not a little rueful that I’ll no longer be able to stop by whenever I wish. He pours us a refill and I let it flow down my throat. 

“This is really good wine,” I giggle. I’m such a lightweight.  
  
He smacks his lips in agreement. 

“This rain isn’t letting up, huh?” I remark. The skies outside are angry and dark now.

“Will Nestor have any trouble getting back here?”

“I’m not sure,” He glances at his wristwatch again. “We might be stuck here for a little while.” 

I sigh and think it wouldn’t be so bad. The wine was helping with my inhibitions and I loosen up, curling my feet up on the couch. I swirl the goblet in my lap, and Miguel is watching me with deep introspection.

“You are prettier than my last agent,” he finally says, tilting his head toward me with a slow lick of his lips. 

I sense we’ve moved beyond fraternizing to a conversation of a more suggestive nature, but I’m not mad at it. Perhaps it’s the house, the weather, or the wine that’s making me want to forget about professionalism. 

“He would be heartbroken to hear you say that,” I flirt back.

He lets out a deep chuckle and inches closer to me on the sofa. Whatever he’s about to do, I am willing. Miguel sets his glass down on the coffee table and takes my glass from my hands to do the same. Our faces are inches from each other as he blinks at me slowly, pupils blown.

He focuses on my cheek and tenderly plucks a stray eyelash between his fingers to show me. 

“Make a wish,” he orders.

I don’t bother. I know what I want and I lean in to kiss him. 

* * *

Miguel’s body tenses at first, like he’s surprised I took the initiative but as I wrap my arms around his neck I feel him relax into the cushions. He cups my cheek, grazing the warming skin, and I can taste the tannins on his lips. There is a sweet satisfaction that he wants me as much as I want him. 

He sucks my tongue into his mouth, his fingers dancing up my spine to grip me by the nape of the neck and pulling me away so he can get a good look at my face.    
  
“Did you… kiss me ‘cause of the wine?” He asks after a beat, mouth wet. 

I shake my head, wiping his pout with my thumb. “No, because of you, ‘cause I want you,” I whisper. 

“Well... the wine helped,” I add after brief contemplation, and he laughs with me, pressing his forehead to mine. 

“If you kiss like this after one bottle,” he smiles, “then we should drink the rest of this poor man’s collection.” 

I touch my lips to his again and this time he runs his lascivious tongue into my mouth, exploring me deeply and slowly. He swallows as I nibble at his jaw, my hands coming up to scratch the closed cropped hair of his soft, beautiful beard. I could spend all afternoon kissing him like this and never get enough. 

He breathes, and I nudge his nose gently, wanting to inhale his entire essence. His touch, his scent, I want all of it to envelop and possess me. 

I smooth my hands up over his chest, fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt. The patch of naked skin at his neck looks so inviting and I kiss him there softly, and he watches me do so with intensity. That look makes my pussy throb. 

He groans and sits back into the couch, pulling me onto his lap, but I can’t straddle him like I want because of my pencil skirt. He tries to work it up over my hips but it’s not an easy task.

“It’s really tight,” I say. 

“I know,” he cocks an eyebrow at me while his fingers find the side zipper and slides the skirt all the way down. “Your ass looks great in this, especially when you walk up the stairs,” he says as I kick it aside.

That strange sensation from earlier was confirmed. “Oh… I thought I could feel your eyes on me,” I reply, sitting astride his long legs. 

Suddenly Miguel spanks my ass cheeks hard enough for them to clap.

“Yeah? _Feel_ that?” His husky voice breathes into my ear. He licks the shell of it flicking over the pearl earring in my earlobe. The way he does it convinces me that he knows how to do a lot more with his tongue than he’s letting on. 

I yelp. Shit, that feels really good. “Do it again,” I beg softly against his lips. “Please?”

He obliges as he rains blow after blow on my reddening cheeks, mouth at my ear telling me all the nasty things he’ll do to ruin me. The rat-a-tat of the downpour outside is not letting up, and neither are the sensations Miguel Galindo is snatching from my body. It has its own ideas about what it wants as I grind my hips against his cock. I need to get him out of these pants. I need to have his dick. 

I reach between our bodies to pull him out, letting my fingers caress the head. I trap him between our bellies and let the friction run its course. He’s dribbling with precum and I feel it seeping into my blouse. “You like that, baby?” 

“Fuck…” he moans through gritted teeth, as he kneads the heated flesh of my ass with big palms, fingers digging in and then merely ghosting as he conducts my body to keep up its pace. He pulls on my panties and uses them to create a bit of friction of his own, rubbing my clit with the fabric. 

It feels really good but he’s tugging so roughly I’m afraid he’ll rip them. They’re my favorite pair.

“You’ll stretch them out,” I find myself complaining. 

“I’ll stretch you out,” he replies with a touch of uncertainty and I laugh at how corny he is. It’s still sexy as fuck when he says it, cute almost, but as he is normally so dominant, so confident, the waver in his voice kind of makes me like him more.

“I’m a little out of practice,” he admits, and I wonder if I’m the first woman he’s been with since his wife. I stroke his hair gently and meet his gaze, letting my hips rock at a slower pace. I touch the lines in his forehead, the soft crinkles around his eyes, the adorable dimple in his cheek. He’s a man who’s already accomplished so much in the world. 

“You're doing just fine,” I encourage him. “Better than fine,” I add, taking his hands in my own and kissing all his fingers. I pay special attention to his thumbs as I suck on them.

While Miguel is not the kind of man whose ego needs much stroking, I want to reassure him and feel like it's an honor that he can be vulnerable with me. 

“Feel how wet you make me,” I say, bringing his fingers under the waistband of my panties. Alas, they are ruined. I’ll find a new favorite pair. 

While he plays with my pussy, I unbutton my blouse and make a slow show of sliding the straps of my bra down before reaching back to unhook it. His eyes dip to my bare chest and that hungry look in them already makes me feel like I’m being devoured. He removes his wet fingers and tweaks my nipples and my body curves against him instinctively.

He pulls me tighter to him as he suckles both my tits and squeezes them before burying his head there. “Yeah, you’re doing just fine, Miguel,” I cry. His beard brushes against all the sensitive skin and I groan at the sensation. 

I push his jacket off his shoulders and kiss him again as I tug his shirt out from his pants. He smiles at me trying desperately to get him as naked as me.

“Wanna be inside you,” He kisses my nose, voice hoarse as he furrows his brow. He picks me up to lay me back on the sofa, and I grab a couple of the Belgian silk throw pillows to prop myself up, casting away my ruined panties. 

Rain rolls off the window panes behind him. It is dark now, save for the pathway lights in the patio. Miguel watches me as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt, and pushes his pants down his narrow hips, and I just admire the silhouette of his naked body. His cock juts forward proudly and my fingers crawl their way between my legs to play with myself. 

He stalks toward me and kneels on the couch between my legs. My heart is racing as he pulls my hand away and pushes my knees far apart. 

“Tell me what you want,” he asks, voice husky with need.

“I want you to touch me,” I implore.

Miguel knows what I’m asking for but he won’t let me have it yet. He runs his hand along my leg on the edge of the seat, his warm touch leaving goosebumps in its path. Without breaking from my gaze he kisses the inside of my ankle, and then my calf, the bend in my knee until he’s licking the flesh of my thigh. 

“Oh, fuck,” I pant. Whatever hesitation he had before is gone.

He wets his thumb and grazes it over my sensitive clit, before he rubs and strokes my pussy. I’m completely blissed out. I’m melting as his name falls from my lips, his fingers dipping inside my cunt. I can hear how wet I am from his pistoning in and out of me. It’s so fucking nasty. 

My eyes roll back. “Uhhh… yes…”

When he feels like I’ve had enough, he pulls out to suck my juices off his thumb, index and middle finger. “You taste incredible,” he declares. “Have to sample from the source though,” he winks as he settles on his belly, pulling my hips towards his face.

He can have me any way he wants. I reach up to touch the pearl earring remembering the delicious way he nibbled on my earlobe and my legs start to close around his head. He signals his annoyance by pushing my thighs apart again. “Keep ‘em spread or I won’t let you come,” he growls, and he anchors his arms around my waist, tongue dipping to my center. 

He stares at me, over the curve of my belly and my body convulsing as he circles his tongue around my clit. I squeeze my tits as I watch him suck it into his bearded mouth, pressing firmly over and over, before he takes the flat of his tongue and runs it up again and again over the mound. I buck up to meet his lips and my legs shake as I come.

“My god,” I sigh. I can’t believe this man said he was out of practice. I couldn’t help it, there was no way I could keep my legs spread. I scissor them around his head as he bites the soft flesh of my inner thighs. 

“Told you to keep them open, mi amor,” he chides. His eyes are dark and playful. “Guess a punishment is in order,” he says matter of factly. Even though I just came, the timbre of his voice sends jolts to my pussy again. I need to have him. 

Miguel stands and spits into the palm of his hand and starts stroking his cock in my face. I sit up, open my mouth and look up with an expectant expression.

“Tsk tsk… only obedient girls get fed,” he glares as he pulls me up and bends me over the arm of the sofa, presenting my ass to him. He spreads my cheeks, and grazes the head of his cock suggestively over my asshole. I inhale sharply, but he just chuckles and buries himself into my pussy. He is so big, he really is stretching me out but in the most delicious way possible.

“Shit….” I wail, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I see just a glimmer of our reflection in the wet stained panels of glass, as Miguel grips my flesh and pounds into me. I’m at his mercy, debasing myself for his pleasure. _Definitely unprofessional_. He catches me staring at us in the window and presses down the small of my back before smoothing his hands up my spine to grab me by the neck. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and I bow backward into his embrace. 

“You like watching us fuck like this?” He asks between thrusts.

I nod my head enthusiastically. 

“Voyeurism…huh? It makes you even wetter as if that’s even possible” he breathes. “Next time I’ll fuck you in front of an audience.” 

Next time? There’s a next time? I don’t even have the mental capacity to wonder what he means by this. All I can do is focus on the tightening sensation in my belly, as the fine French linen of the couch rubs roughly against my clit.  I feel his other hand make its way between my legs, rubbing me in circles just the right way as he pounds me from behind.

“Ahh, just like that! Don’t stop!” I exclaim.

I know I’m close. I feel the blood rush to my head and my pussy throb as Miguels’ thrusts are more erratic now. I hear him panting and groaning against my ear. I loosen his grip around my torso so I can fall forward again, and he grabs onto my hips driving my ass back to him.

“Fuck,” I hear him say, over the sound of the thunder. 

“Come for me... please… please. I need it,” I beg. “Ugh... Miguel!”

He holds me close, rocking his hips and filling me up. We both stumble forward and collapse into the cushions, exhausted. Miguel’s body is draped over mine, fingers brushing aside my hair laying soft breathy kisses against my skin. His deep exhales sound so sexy. I love hearing him catch his breath. 

“That was so good, I don’t even know how to thank you,” I murmur, coming down from my high. 

“Say you’ll see me again,” he says in his sleepy, raspy voice. “I’ll buy this house as is in its current condition. You’ll select the rest of the furniture and I’ll fuck you on everything you pick, how’s that?”

The storm has turned into a gentle drizzle, and I’m starting to fall asleep too. He repeats his question, and I nod with my face pressed against a throw pillow. His cum is leaking from between my thighs, dripping all over this very expensive couch. 

“Is that a yes?” He yawns.

“Mmm hmm, but the furniture is non-refundable.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of returning a damn thing,” I hear him say. His lips are against my ear just as I drift off with a smile on my face. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I always love hearing your thoughts and comments. Kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> House listings:  
> [(1)](https://www.sothebyshomes.com/Los-Angeles-Real-Estate/sales/0029090-1549-North-Doheny-Drive-Los-Angeles-CA-90069)
> 
> [(2)](https://www.sothebysrealty.com/eng/sales/detail/180-l-84169-yqxbt9/4230-silverado-trail-napa-ca-94558)
> 
> [(3)](https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/4701-Balboa-Ave-Encino-CA-91316/19993404_zpid/)


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